


Snake Oil Brand Lizard Breastmilk

by zombified_queer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Body Modification, Breast Milking, Fisting, Humiliation, M/M, Mindbreak, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 00:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: [Reposted from my Tumblr]Something's really off about these modification's Damar's suggested . . .





	Snake Oil Brand Lizard Breastmilk

The first thing he notices is the weight. It’s a lot, making him top-heavy and it takes some time to get used to.

Dukat isn’t thrilled about the two large additions to his chest.

“You said he’d make me a Bajoran,” Dukat hisses at Damar, the younger Cardassian making a poor job of concealing his smirk.

“I said he might make you a Bajoran,” Damar answers, calmly grinning. “I also said there might be some side effects.”

“Some side-effect this is,” Dukat hisses, cupping his chest. They’re sensitive too and that sends a small splinter of pleasure down his spine and straight to his groin. “I can’t do this. I can’t even leave my quarters.”

“I could bring the tailor in and—”

“No!” Dukat turns, almost too quickly. “No, that’s quite alright, Damar.”

“You just don’t want him to see you.” Damar’s eyes wander to the new curse of Dukat’s chest.

“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Dukat snaps, not appreciating the way Damar’s stare lingers. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this. You’re bad enough with your insufferable smirking.”

Damar nods, getting up to leave. “Let me know if I can fetch anything.”

Dukat gives Damar a scathing stare as the other Cardassian leaves, still failing to conceal his snickers.

Alone in his quarters, Dukat paces the length of his quarters, trying to get used to the new additions to his chest. They’re heavy, more than a handful of flesh, and the softness of the mostly unscaled skin stands out almost comically. The nipples—his nipples, he reminds himself, taking the left one between his thumb and index finger—are too sensitive to be comfortable under his usual suit.

Massaging them idly, Dukat continues his pacing. This massaging helps the ache in his chest, soothes gently the weight. He just gives one breast a tight squeeze, thumb massaging the more sore point.

His hand comes away wet.

He makes a face, wiping the fluid on his trousers. But his breast is smeared with a sheen of fluid. And it does feel a bit lighter. He considers it, the weight of the flesh in his hand.

Dukat decides to take the experimenting into the bathroom, just so it’s easier to clean himself off after.

Running hands over the swell of his chest, Dukat takes both breasts in hand, squeezing just gently. It’s just a few white drops, Dukat staring in equal parts fascination and disgust. It takes a few tries to find just the right way to squeeze to produce a proper stream, the milk dribbling into the sink. It seems a waste, but it does help with the weight in his chest.

But it also sends a thrill down his spine, heat pooling in his groin. He pauses, wiping his hands off before pulling off his trousers. His ajan is slightly parted, thighs smeared with lubricant. His hands wander back up to his breasts, massaging again, milking himself like a zabu. He’s does end up groaning, low and deep. As he squeezes the milk from him, he everts all at once, cock cool in the air of his quarters.

As he continues to milk himself, Dukat cums, shivering and yelping, startled by just how hard being milked gets him off. He leans forward, bracing himself against the counter while he catches his breath. His thighs are coated in his own cum, his chest wet with milk. But his chest feels lighter, less full.

Shuddering, he slinks into the sonic shower to wash off his shame.

* * *

It only cost Dukat his pride for the binder and it was a rather nice piece of work, even if Elim had laughed until he cried. Unless you looked hard enough, one could easily mistake his newest acquisitions for more muscle in the chest. But since he’d discovered the talent his body had for lactating, Dukat found himself almost always full, needing to excuse himself often to relieve the ache in his chest, the fullness needing to be drained.

Like he’d just finished doing when the door chimed.

“Just a moment,” Dukat called, struggling to clasp the binder and zip himself back into uniform. Once he was dressed, he called, “Enter.”

Damar stepped in, staring at the curve of Dukat’s chest. “Sir.”

“Damar.” Dukat hoped the ice in his voice would dissuade any further taunting.

“Sir, some of the men are worried about your inability to captain this ship,” Damar reports.

“Then round them up and show them the airlock.”

“I happen to agree with them, Sir.”

Dukat narrows his eyes at Damar, who simply folds his hands behind his back.

“You seem to be distracted,” Damar notes.

“Then take responsibility for your silly little prank, Damar,” Dukat hisses, “since you think this is so amusing.”

“Maybe I do,” Damar says, eyes looking at Dukat’s chest. “Maybe I don’t.”

Damar circles Dukat, just looking. He knows about the binder, having brought the tailor in. Dukat stiffens, not appreciating being circled. But Damar faces him, hands gently cupping Dukat’s chest through the fabric of his uniform, through the binder.

It sends a shiver through Dukat, pressing his chest into Damar’s hands. He reaches back, unzipping his uniform. Damar looks at Dukat and, seeing the other nod, unclasps the binder. Damar takes both breasts in hand, feeling the weight of them, and content to take his time. He notes tthe darkening of Dukat’s scales.

“You get off on being milked like an animal,” Damar notes.

“I don’t,” Dukat protests.

“Perhaps I should get a bucket,” Damar says, squeezing just gently, a few drops covering his hand. “Milk you like an animal. Perhaps put a bit in your mouth as well.”

Dukap pulls away, huffing and struggling with his clothes. Damar, impassive, grabs a handful of Dukat’s hair, forcing the busty Cardassian to look him in the eye.

“Strip,” Damar demands. “I’ll be right back with a few things.”

“Horrible,” Dukat says. But he does shrug off his binder again.

Damar returns later with two things. The first is a bucket, plain metal with a handle and it makes Dukat glare indignantly.

“Don’t be too cross,” Damar says. “I can easily calm a mutiny.”

“At the cost of my pride. Again.”

Damar nods, smirking.

Dukat crosses his arms over his chest. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you can handle the mutiny on your own,” Damar says. “If you can pull your hand away from your tits long enough.”

Dukat tenses, considering his options. Damar turns to leave, the bucket held on his hip.

“Wait!”

Damar turns, a brow ridge raised.

“I admit I might appreciate the help,” Dukat says.

“Then get undressed,” Damar says. “Completely.”

The second thing Damar brings is hidden in the bucket until after Dukat’s stripped down. It’s a bit, plain, the kind one might use on a riding hound. Damar fits it between Dukat’s teeth, tightening the straps. It suits Dukat.

Dukat makes an almost indignant huff, tossing his head.

“No need to be upset,” Damar soothes, petting Dukat, the Gul sitting in Damar’s lap. “I’ll help. Just be patient.”

Damar’s hands wander, tracing the sensitive scales and soft flesh of Dukat’s breasts.

“At least this part of you is Bajoran,” Damar notes, smirking.

Dukat huff at Damar for finding the whole situation so funny.

Damar gently squeezes, the dribble of milk coating Damar’s chest. He has to be a bit rough to get the milk into the bucket, Dukat shuddering at the touch. Damar notes the way Dukat’s scales darken, the glistening of moisture around Dukat’s slit.

“You get off on being treated like a cow,” Damar says. “Terrans put large bells on their livestock. I think it might suit you.”

Dukat looks over his shoulder, gives Damar a sharp glare, trying to avoid grinding down against Damar’s hips. But he does get some of that natural lubricant smeared on Damar’s thigh, soaking into his trousers.

“I bet you could cum if I milked you enough,” Damar says. “Perhaps I won’t touch anywhere else.”

Dukat makes a frustrated hiss around the bit.

Damar continues treating Dukat’s breasts roughly, squeezing out as much milk as he can into the bucket. Dukat grinds his hips against Damar, the friction against his ajan helping him evert.

“Look at you. You’re not fit to wear clothes, much less captain this ship.”

Dukat growls but Damar manages to press his thigh against Dukat’s cho'ch just right, making the Gul hiss and groan low in his throat.

And then he stops thinking. Damar’s words don’t even make sense all he cares about is the pressure in his chest and in his groin, the heat in him.

He cums hard, eyes rolling back in his head, staining Damar’s trousers.

“Slut,” Damar teases. He gets his own trousers undone and, without hesitating, Dukat sinks down on the offered length. “I should take command and hook you up to a milker.”

The thought of that nearly makes Dukat cum again.

* * *

Garak has no love for Cardassian vessels, not any more. He’s only here since Damar—Legate Damar now, due to unforeseen circumstances—has invited him personally and discreetly.

When the door opens, Garak’s aware of a certain taste on the air, a dull mechanical whirr that’s not part of the ship’s operations. Damar must see the confusion in Garak’s face.

“Come in,” Damar says, standing aside.

Garak steps into Damar’s quarters—lavish in space but Spartan in decoration—and turns. “Damar, you said—”

“I know what I said,” Damar says. “I’m not a snake who goes back on my word.”

Garak raises a brow ridge, almost amused. “Then …?”

Damar only jerks his head for Garak to follow him, unlocking the door to side room. “I had to keep it locked to … protect my investment.”

“Now you sound like a Ferengi.” But the moment Garak sees just what Damar’s hiding, he understands entirely.

Dukat is strapped down, for his own safety, of course, to a sturdy table, the straps keeping him bent over, on display constantly. The large swell of Dukat’s chest is on full display, smooth grey flesh and dark nipples. Attached to each breast is a cup, suctioning off the milk held in Dukat’s chest. He gets off on it, the scent of arousal in the air.

“Impressive,” Garak notes, circling Dukat.

Dukat’s only vaguely aware of Garak, perking up to show off the O-ring firmly in his mouth.

“He moos like an animal,” Damar notes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Behind Dukat is a rather simple machine, pistoning a thick faux-cock into the Cardassian cow’s slit, the scales flushed so dark they’re nearly black, Dukat’s own cock unattended and leaking cum. He rocks his hips back, wanting more, slick glistening on Dukat’s thighs.

“If it wasn’t for me, he’d probably be out there fucking half the ship,” Damar adds.

“Who would need shore leave with slut like this ready constantly,” Garak teases, putting a hand between Dukat’s shoulders.

“That’s the problem,” Damar says. “No one could get any work done with this slut fucking them all the time.”

“What’ll you do with him, then?”

“Probably sell him off to the Orions,” Damar notes. “Send the money to his wife.”

“How charitable.”

“After she’s had to deal with him for so long? It’s the least I can do.” Damar crosses the room, grabbing Dukat by the hair, forcing the cow to look up at him. “Wouldn’t you just love sucking Orion cock?”

Dukat moans, drooling at the prospect.

“Disgusting.” Damar lets go of him. “But you can do what you want with him. I figured no one can humiliate him like you.”

Damar turns, leaving the room, giving Dukat entirely to Garak.

“Swallow,” Garak says softly, holding Dukat gently in place, refusing to let the cow spit out the mouthful of cum.

Dukat looks up at Garak, begging, but obliges when he realizes Garak has an infinite amount of patience, swallowing the other Cardassian’s cum.

“Good boy,” Garak says. He lets go of Dukat, petting him instead. “I think you might like sucking Orion cock for the rest of your life. Or maybe you’ll be sold off to whorehouse. Servicing all sorts of exciting clients.”

Dukat shudders, moaning again as the fucking machine shoves the dildo into him over and over, milking his orgasm until his thighs are soaked.

“Such a good little slut,” Garak purrs. “I should bring Julian in too. He’ll love you. And he has so much stamina.”

Garak’s hands wander, tracing the smooth skin of the cow’s breasts, humming s he appraises him. He gives one a gentle squeeze, entertaining the idea of massaging the poor cow. After all, his nipples look raw and sore.

Instead, he guides Dukat’s mouth, thrilled when Dukat submits just enough to be pliable but not so exhausted he can’t suck dick.

“Swallow this time,” Garak tells him, “and I’ll take the milker off.”

That makes Dukat redouble his efforts, putting more effort into getting Garak off.

* * *

Dukat thinks, lazily, that Damar was entirely right. Clothes don't suit him, not when they brush against his sensitive nipples, making him shiver constantly. And his new master keeps their quarters warm enough that the Cardassian doesn't need them anyway. No, being naked suits him better, Dukat muses.

And he's proud to be the pet of some Orion slaver's harem. A couple more illegal sex mods the Cardassian cow had practically begged for keep him indebted to the Orion for a clause that lasts well after both of them are dead.

"Here, cow."

Crawling on all fours, Dukat practically drools at the thought of being granted such a privelege.

"I bet you're all full, hmm?" the Orion asks, piercings glinting in the light. Normally, the Orion would look so intimidating, but Dukat' nuzzles against him, nose ring—which marks the Cardassian's station as a proper cow—brushing against the leather of the Orion's trousers. "We should handle that, shouldn't we?"

The thought of being milked properly makes Dukat's slit moisten, parted ever so slightly with the need to evert. He won't though, not until the Orion commands him to, if he thinks he deserves to evert.

With a snap of his fingers, the Orion has Dukat at the milking table, breasts presented without a second of hesitation. The cups are cold and make the Cardassian cow shiver, but the Orion's hand on his back is warm.

"I should look into some of those sugar mods," the Orion muses. "Make you start producing honey or something. Wouldn't you love that?"

Dukat moos, softly, nodding at the idea. What's one more mod to a lifetime of delightful pleasure and being cared for?

The milker switches on, making Dukat shiver.

"Never did like how those scales made you so hard to get off," the Orion muses, watching the cow shiver and practically cum by being milked, still not everted. "But this suits you better, hmm? I bet just kissing you could set you off."

That thought has Dukat cumming, thighs drenched in slick.

"Mmm, I could just put my whole fist up in you." The Orion's fingers drum along Dukat's slit, testing the Cardassian cow not to thrash. "Wouldn't you like that?"

The cow rocks his hips back, slit pressing against the Orion's teasing hand.

"Yeah, you'd want to be fisted, you slut. Maybe one day I'll put you to work servicing all the men, hmm?"

Both are equally appealing, the cow rocking back against his master's hand again but then pressing closer to the milker.

"I won't make you wait."

The Orion doesn't go slow, not since he's broken the cow in and not since his pet is practically gushing a constant stream from his slit. In one fluid motion, the Orion buries his fist in the cow, making Dukat so overcome he can't even moo.

"I bet if someone came in you, they could get you nice and full of young," the Orion teases, not moving the hand buried in the Cardassian just yet. "Wouldn't that sound nice? Being bent over and fucked, always leaking cum."

Dukat arches his back, not denying that sounds terribly appealing. There's something fantastic about being full of warm Orion cum, feeling it heat up those deep, needy places in him. Even with the Orion's fist in him, the Cardassian cow feels terribly empty.

Bracing himself against the table, the Cardassian rocks back against the Orion's thick fist, gushing over and over the more he's fucked. Dukat can hardly help himself when he cums hard, slit grasping the Orion's fist tightly until the Cardassian goes limp.

"And you didn't even evert," the Orion teases, pulling his soaked fist back, slapping Dukat's slit. "Mmm, the men are going to like you."

By now, the Cardassian's drained from the milking and fisting, panting at the discomfort he's feeling in his chest.

"Poor thing," the Orion coos. "What does a good cow-slut say?"

"Please," Dukat begs.

"Good slut." 

The Orion switches off the milker, massaging his cown's sore teats, playing with those sensitive nipples until the Cardassian cums again, eyes rolling back in his head. 

"Maybe I should let the men take turns breeding you properly," the Orion muses.

Dukat shivers and pants, unable to do much else but relish in the afterglow and try to catch his breath.

"Good cow," the Orion purrs, enjoying the sight of such a once-proud Cardassian reduced to a slut who only cares about being milked dry and fucked full of cum. "Rest up. I'm going to put you to work in the mess hall later, slut."

"Thank you," Dukat whispers.

* * *

**BAD END**

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was brought to you by _Trials in Tainted Space,_ a text-based porn game that’s not only consumed all my free time and hands but also gives me ideas for lulzy pornos like this one.


End file.
